I'm A Libertine, But It's Not My

A Scientist's Life, The Author Says, Is Indeed Conflictual, Formed By Battles, Defeats, And Victories: But The Adversary Is Always And Only The Unknown, The Problem To Be Solved, The Mystery To Be Clarified. It Is Never A Matter Of Civil War; Even Though Of Different Opinions, Or Of Different Political Leanings, Scientists Dispute Each Other, They Compete, But They Do Not Battle: They Are Bound Together By A Strong Alliance, By The Common Faith "in The Validity Of Maxwell's Or Boltzmann's Equations," And By The Common Acceptance Of Darwinism And The Molecular Structure Of Dna.

I Beg The Reader Not To Go In Search Of Messages. It Is A Term That I Detest Because It Distresses Me Greatly, For It Forces On Me Clothes That Are Not Mine, Which In Fact Belong To A Human Type That I Distrust; The Prophet, The Soothsayer, The Seer. I Am None Of These; I'm A Normal Man With A Good Memory Who Fell Into A Maelstrom And Got Out Of It More By Luck Than By Virtue, And Who From That Time On Has Preserved A Certain Curiosity About Maelstroms Large And Small, Metaphorical And Actual.

Perhaps One Cannot, What Is More One Must Not, Understand What Happened, Because To Understand [the Holocaust] Is Almost To Justify...no Normal Human Being Will Ever Be Able To Identify With Hitler, Himmler, Goebbels, Eichmann, And Endless Others. This Dismays Us, And At The Same Time Gives Us A Sense Of Relief, Because Perhaps It Is Desirable That Their Words (and Also, Unfortunately, Their Deeds) Cannot Be Comprehensible To Us. They Are Non-human Words And Deeds, Really Counter-human.

If It Is True That There Is No Greater Sorrow Than To Remember A Happy Time In A State Of Misery, It Is Just As True That Calling Up A Moment Of Anguish In A Tranquil Mood, Seated Quietly At One's Desk, Is A Source Of Profound Satisfaction.

My Number Is 174517; We Have Been Baptized, We Will Carry The Tattoo On Our Left Arm Until We Die.